Taste of Happiness
by fakescorpion
Summary: 5x14. Jimmy's love for red meat had been touched by Famine's hunger, but was Castiel really as immuned to the Black Horseman as he claimed to be?


___disclaimer: I don't own SPN or any of its characters._

_____Spoilers for 5x14. Jimmy's cravings for red meat had been touched and strengthened by Famine's hunger, but was Castiel really as immuned to the Black Horseman as he claimed to be? Maybe the angel did want something after all._

* * *

**_Taste of Happiness_**

He knew the phone would ring seconds before it actually did.

_"Cas, it's Dean."_

"Where are you?" Castiel asked immediately, he knew Dean wouldn't have called if it wasn't important.

_"Yeah, room thirty-one C, basement level, St. James…"_

It was enough.

"…medical center."

And Castiel was staring at Dean straight in the eye, all the while invading his personal bubble. "I'm there now." He deadpanned. It was true.

Dean stared, making a face while the pause. "Yeah, I get that."

Castiel frowned. He seemed to remember it wasn't a polite deed if you hang up the phone too suddenly? "I'm gonna hang up…now." So he asked for permission first.

"Right." Dean made a face again, knowing the renegade angel had a total of no clue how awkward it had become.

They went down to business after that as Castiel picked up the heart of one of the victims with bare hand, ignoring the disgusted looks on the brothers' faces and checked the unnatural scribblings there. It wasn't hard to identify they were really angelic markings.

"It's a mark of union." He began to explain as the brothers didn't seem to understand.

"Okay, but who put them there?"

"Well, your people called them 'cupid'." Again Sam asked for details, so Castiel continued. "What human myth had mistaken for 'cupid' is actually lower order of angels. Technically, it's a cherub, third class."

Dean made one of those comments that Castiel couldn't understand, so he did the only thing he could given the options. He ignored it.

"What I'm saying is a cupid had gone rogue and we have to stop him, before he kills again." Nothing pained more than knowing one from the family had gone astray.

The brothers both made a face at that. Why, the angel couldn't decipher.

* * *

Sam and Dean followed the renegade angel to a diner with colorful Valentine's Day decorations and lots of merry couples soon afterwards. When they asked, Castiel didn't go into the details of how angels track down each other and were inwardly mildly thankful Sam didn't press. Instead, he just said that the place…

Tomato sauce.

The place was exactly where cupids…

Dean was putting tomato sauce on his hamburger meat.

Cupids…

Dean picked up his burger.

Castiel's eyes were fixed on the hunter's movements and for a second forgot where he was with his words. The hunter was disturbingly distracting.

And…Dean put the food back into the plate and pushed it away.

Did it mean he could have it? As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Castiel had to fight the urge to frown. It was…unnatural of him to have this kind of…want? As an angel he never 'wanted' anything so…_material_ before. What was he suppose to do with it anyway? Eat it? But he did not feel hungry and he certainly wasn't blessed with humans' sense of taste.

So why? Why do such an absurd act?

But his body was commanding. Actually commanding.

And since Castiel was a soldier through and through, he did the thing that had felt _right_ then. He obeyed and reached for it.

However, before the food even touched his lips, Castiel sensed him. "He's here." He whispered, eyes following as the cupid flew across the room. "Meet me in the back." And he flapped his own set of wings.

Showing up in front of any from his family was risky. He was still second on the Heaven's Most Wanted List, right below Lucifer. But it was a risk he had to take if wanted to stop the cupid from killing, so Castiel pushed his worries aside and started chanting in Enochian to force the trapped angel into showing.

"Hello you!" And the cherub appeared, laughing and smiling all over, first flinging his arms around Dean making him choked for help, before he came for Castiel. At least he showed no sign of recognition (_which_ was a good thing).

"Is it a fight? Do we…fight?" Dean asked when the cupid went for Sam after Castiel.

"This is…their handshake." The angel explained.

"I don't like it."

"No one likes it." It was true though he didn't have any idea why Dean and Sam were complaining about it. It wasn't like they have to endure feathers flying all over their faces nor had wings that were practically crashed in the embrace.

He didn't have any idea why it was him who had to cheer the cupid up when said cupid suddenly start sobbing neither.

The result was having his wings crashed again.

And Castiel had absolutely no idea what the other angel was saying.

"I was just off on my appointed rounds. Whatever my targets do after that, that's got nothing to do with me. I was following my orders." Seeing the stronger angel's disbelieving face, the cupid kind of panicked–angels were made to _trust_, angels never lie. Why the disbelieve? "Please brother, read my mind. You'll see."

Castiel complied. And realized it was indeed the truth.

Then the cupid said something about John and Mary Winchester. Though it wasn't news to Castiel, it sure was to the two hunters. And it made Dean more than a little angry enough to give the cupid a punch in the face, upsetting the lower-ordered angel.

Dean was depressed. Distraught even.

Very distraught.

But since Sam had no idea what (the hell) went wrong, neither did Castiel.

* * *

They went their separate ways after the incident, knowing it wasn't the angels' doing.

But the nudge at the back of Castiel's conscious was growing stronger and stronger, a pained combination of longing and emptiness. Both emotions were alien to the rebellious angel and it–Castiel wasn't sure what but it could be discomfort–was causing him to shuffle his wings with restlessness and unease.

Want.

_Want._

WANT.

A single worded command. Again and again and _again_.

Before he knew it, he found himself at the kitchen of another diner. Invisible to all humans as the angel observed the people moving around.

The humans cooked the meat. Placed the meat between two pieces of bread with different kinds of sauce. Wrapped them in paper. Placed them on trays for customers who wanted to eat it there and in bags for those who wanted to take out.

Castiel soon figured out exactly _what_ had gotten his attention.

It was the meat.

Want.

_Want._

WANT.

The need for the food was reaching an alarming state, even starting to affect the angel's thinking ability. So yeah…no, Castiel didn't want to _think_ about the possible consequences anymore and just take whatever the need demand (the waitress who had only finished wrapping the burgers swore the servings vanished into thin air).

He took a bite.

Like temperature, pain, and the sense of smell and touch, angels were denied of the sense of taste–they weren't corporal in their true form after all–but quite unexpectedly, Castiel felt a strange wave of something very different from the uncomfortable emptiness he had felt seconds before.

The feeling was kind of nice, but no, it didn't mean he had suddenly acquired the possibly pleasurable ability to taste. It only meant whatever his vessel was feeling now was overwhelming enough to make the angel feel the slight emotional sting.

So Castiel assumed this commanding WANT that–despite the nice feeling–still refused to go away came from Jimmy as well. He took another bite of the burger in his hand before deciding to claim a whole bag for himself.

Why though?

Why the WANT? The unsatisfied longing? The…and it hit him, so hard it felt almost physical.

It was 'hunger'.

* * *

"What the hell was that?"

Castiel heard the exclamation as he arrived at the motel room where Dean would be at, catching a sight of the essence-of-life as it came bursting out of a suitcase. "It's a human soul." He said.

"When do you start eating?" Sam eyed the bag the angel was holding suspiciously like it might turn into a Hellhound and start attacking.

"Exactly. My hunger, it's a clue actually." Castiel ignored the younger Winchester's stare and fixed his eyes on Dean. Reading humans' thoughts and understanding humans' thoughts were totally different things and the latter was by far more difficult so Castiel had no idea whether Dean was still frustrated by the cupid's words or not. He hoped the hunter had at least calm down by now.

"For what?" The brothers asked in union.

Maybe Dean wasn't so distraught after all? The angel thought to himself before he carried on to explaining. "This town…it's suffering from hunger, starvation to be exact, specifically…Famine."

"I thought Famine is starvation, as in…you know, food." Sam pressed, always the one for details.

"Yes, absolutely. But…not just food, I mean, everyone seemed to be starving for something. Sex, attention, drugs…love…" Dean said something about the lovers before Castiel continued. "Cherub made them crave love, and then Famine came and made them rabid for it."

"Okay, what about you?" Dean looked at the bag the angel was holding (hugging) with a smirk. "Since when do angels secretly hunger for White Castle?"

"It's my vessel, Jimmy. He's…um…appetite for red meat is been touched by Famine's infect." Castiel said if not sheepishly.

Dean made a face again, one of the a million facial expressions of humans' that no angels would ever hope to understand.

Castiel stared at the puzzling expression for almost a whole intensive minute before he blinked–once–and casted down his eyes. "And then will come Famine, riding on a black steed." He began under his breath as if in a trance. "To arrive in the land of plenty, and great will be the Horseman's hunger, for he _is_ 'hunger', and his hunger will seep out and poison the air." He finished, tone so low it was barely above whisper.

Dean and Sam needed to be wary for Horsemen all have great powers.

However, when Dean inquired about Castiel's own ability to withstand the effects while Sam went into the restroom, the angel brushed it aside as needless worries. As far as his knowledge goes, Famine and Pestilence–unlike War and Death–could not touch angels.

How wrong was he.

* * *

Castiel didn't realize it was there until it had become a torture.

Dean had told him to _stop_ back in the motel room so the first thing he did after he left was to completely severe the connection–the remaining of whatever left of the connection anyway–he had with the human soul of his vessel, for he knew the power of Famine was to lure out the deepest hunger within the soul, not the flesh.

Castiel thought it was enough to shut off the need.

It did.

For a pathetically short while.

Then, he began to feel the pull. It was tugging at first but steadily grew stronger.

It wasn't to the food that Jimmy had been so fond of though but the emptiness was _there_ and it was all so much more unbearable than before that it had actually started to cloud–even impair–his better judgments.

To make the matters worse, Castiel had no idea what was it that was making him so miserable this time and could do nothing to stop the pain.

The emptiness was still _there_. Screaming and screaming at him that it WANT something. And wanted it bad.

But it wasn't even possible! It wasn't possible unless…

…Famine had touched him as well.

Castiel was shocked by the realization of the possibility. The _only_ possibility. But what was it? What was it that he–as an angel–could possibly crave? He looked around trying–hoping–to accidentally lay eyes on the source of his hunger so he could put a stop to this tyrannical WANT that was rendering him unable to think, but it was in vain.

Nothing was catching his eyes. And unlike when his vessel intently lead him to the diner to its demand, his body _refused_ to move this time like whatever he wanted was either right here or wasn't anywhere.

It was driving Castiel insane. And the angel was beginning to wish the thing Famine had forced him into craving was as simple as a serving of burger.

* * *

Castiel met up with Dean back at the hospital, feeling so miserable he was having difficulties stringing words and words together to form sentences. But Dean needed him to compose himself and be on guard. He could not let his weakness show. No. He–they–couldn't afford it.

Dean _needed_ him.

Castiel laid a hand gently onto the corpus' chest and felt the essence-of-life throb underneath. "They haven't harvest his soul yet."

Dean needed him.

"Well, if we want to play 'follow the soul' to get to Famine, the best shot start with the doc here."

Dean needed him.

Dean…

But the emptiness was so great.

So great.

It was until Dean Winchester returned to the Impala did he found that Castiel had left him sometime in the hospital, to wait for the possible demon to show. Alone.

A wordless 'I'm sorry' hung heavy in the still air.

* * *

Castiel tried eating again, practically wolfed down thirty (forty?) burgers in the past ten minutes, but it were of no use. The emptiness was still there, screaming and screaming without pause, and it was certainly showing no signs of stopping.

Why was it that eating can numb the terrible WANT hours ago but not now? What was the difference between then and now?

He wanted to give up and start causing havoc. He was actually considering it.

What did he want? Judging by the circumstances it most definitely wasn't anything material. Wasn't anything he could get by using angelic powers neither. But it had to be something he knew, and yet he didn't know what it was.

Contradiction.

Angels were fairly simple-minded when compared with humans, but why was it when coming down to things like craving and desire, it got all complicated?

He remembered earlier when Jimmy's hunger screamed loud, he didn't felt the emptiness he was feeling now. Did it mean if he surrendered to one kind of craving, he could ignore the other?

It made no sense but it was the last idea.

Castiel opened himself up and wrapped his wings around Jimmy again as he made to grab another burger.

It was then did he discover the true nature of his hunger.

* * *

"Are you serious?" Dean asked when the renegade angel showed up with yet another bag of greasy food.

Castiel didn't say anything at first as he ate but his lips soon twitched into a small smile. "This makes me…very happy." He said, forgoing the mention of taste or physical hunger for he felt neither.

It was happiness.

The emotion Jimmy had when he finally tasted the food he had dearly loved but denied for months in his mouth. The emotion so strong it seeped through the smallest cracks of the mental-barrier the angel reinforced around himself, forcing the angel to _feel_.

And unlike doubt or pain or guilt or other emotions he had learn from Dean, happiness felt _nice_. So nice Castiel couldn't resist it under the Black Horseman's power.

Happiness was his real poison.

But Dean probably didn't understand what it meant to the angel.

* * *

Castiel couldn't help it as he crouched on the dirty tiles of the diner, stuffing raw meat down his throat. Feed it to Jimmy, and in turn, Jimmy rewarded it with his own emotion–overwhelming happiness.

Castiel really couldn't help it.

He wanted to feel happy.

He wanted it so much.

If grief and anger and sorrow were the prices human pay for happiness, it was a fair trade. And Castiel suddenly understood the reason for Anael's fall.

Humans were blessed with emotions, angels were not.

Angels were cursed with it.

Angels could share pain if so choose–the guilt of wrong-doings, the sting of anger, the hurt of betrayal–but no, never happiness. Peace was the next closest emotion an angel could hope to feel but it wasn't the same. It was far from the same.

Happiness.

Castiel wanted to feel it. So much. So much. So much that he couldn't understand why so many people–humans–took it for granted.

He wanted to feel it so much like his very existence depended on it.

And when Sam came minutes later with demon blood smeared all over his mouth and broke Famine with his cursed demon-powers lifting the poisoning effects of the Black Horseman, Castiel felt a prick of reluctance.

He wiped his mouth with the trench coat's sleeve, knowing the feeling was gone. Probably forever.

But he would remember it. He wanted to remember it. Always.

Maybe he would really crave it for the rest of his life. For the rest of eternity.

Happiness.

It was a nice feeling.

* * *

_Thx for reading, please R&R_


End file.
